


Something to Tell You: The Outtakes

by findingbetty



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Apple Crumble, Cheesecakes, F/M, Flowers, Furniture, Outtakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:49:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findingbetty/pseuds/findingbetty
Summary: Sometimes things serve in no way to advance the plot, but you hold onto them anyway.





	1. The Guest Room

**Author's Note:**

> Some supplementary material for you, the by-product of overzealous editing and indecision about the timeline of events.

_~three months later~_

 

Betty hadn’t really expected it to be unduly complex.

She perhaps should have known better, given historical reference. Their intent had initially been that of streamlining everything. It had seemed like such a simple concept, the bit where Betty moved into Jughead’s room. She had all but commandeered that space in the past few months anyway, Jughead was predictably enthusiastic about embracing his parsimonious side and paying less rent, and Veronica was enthused about achieving an apparent lifelong dream of having a fully serviceable 'Guest Room'. It just made sense. There wasn’t really anything in it for Archie, but he’d claimed to be in full support of the proposal anyway. He was good like that.

All of this aside, Jughead had asked her to. He’d been surprisingly shy in doing so, as if she might not have said yes. But of course she did.

Everything had started off so well. The four of them had a collective spring in their step, the kind associated with a flurry of productivity bright and early on a Saturday morning, and fueled by that specific kind of satisfaction derived from a little spring cleaning. They didn’t have a huge amount of time because Veronica had a busy social schedule planned for the rest of her day. Moving Betty’s belongings into Jughead’s room had required a little teamwork, but hadn’t been overly arduous. It had all been reasonably efficient. 

Jughead’s room was somewhat larger than Betty’s, so luckily there was plenty of closet space for the two of them to share. In the interests of maximising their floor space, Betty had politely suggested Jughead dispose of the spare desk which sat in the corner of the room. That had really been her only request.

And he had agreed.

It wasn’t until Jughead tried to move the desk from his room and into Betty’s old one that they encountered a disagreement.

“What are you doing?” Veronica’s tone was terse. Betty could tell she knew exactly what he was doing.

Jughead paused in the doorway of Betty’s old room, the offending desk part way across the threshold. “I’m putting this spare desk in ‘The Guest Room’.”

“You can’t do that.”

There was no doubting Veronica meant what she said. Betty had to question Jughead’s audacity in sketching quote marks around The Guest Room, difficult though it may have been to resist.

Betty had always been somewhat confused about the presence of the desk in Jughead’s room. It was not, after all, like he really needed it. Indeed, it was largely unused, but for occasionally storing piles of clothes and other unhomed belongings. It’s unexplained presence was reasonably inconsequential in the great scheme of things, though. Sufficiently so that Betty had declined to ever broach the subject. She could now see that if ever there was a time that was going to become relevant, it was now.

“Well, where am I supposed to put it?” Jughead’s earlier good mood seemed to have dissipated somewhat.

“Back in your room. Put it right back where you got it from.”

“I can’t. Betty takes up too much space.”

Betty wasn’t that impressed by this.

“Well,” Veronica went on, “you can’t put it in my Guest Room. The Guest Room is for guests.  _Not_ superfluous pieces of furniture.”

It was flat and final. Having contributed as much as she deemed necessary to the morning’s proceedings, Veronica bid farewell to Betty and Archie, before collecting her bag and departing for her social engagements. Jughead glared after her, looking particularly bitter.

It was true that now there were two of them sharing the room, the spare desk really was rather more of a hindrance. It did occupy precious floor space, and Betty was very much in favour of it being relocated. She had’t really realised that Jughead’s intention, upon agreeing with her suggestion, was to stow it in the Guest Room. In fact, his blind belief this would be okay with Veronica seemed fairly presumptuous. A demonstration of unusually poorly applied logic, even.

Jughead stared at the desk, apparently deep in thought. He then proceeded to maneuver it back out out of the doorway, and set about carrying it down the hallway.

Betty glanced at Archie uncertainly, who merely grinned. He was plainly enjoying how this was unfolding far more than anyone else. They trailed after Jughead, and watched him set the desk up in a discrete corner of the living room.

It was discrete but it wasn’t  _that_ discrete. Betty wasn’t sure how this was an improvement on hiding it in Veronica’s Guest Room. It seemed, if anything, like it would be more controversial. Archie clearly shared Betty’s view.

“Bro,” he said skeptically, “you sure about that?”

Jughead nodded. “Absolutely. It’s the only other option.”

This was a rather defeatist attitude. There were many other options that Betty could think of - chief among them finding this completely redundant piece of furniture a whole new home. A home outside the confines of Precinct, far from Veronica's Guest Room, her living room and her carefully cultivated apartment aesthetic.

“It looks good,” Jughead went on.

It didn’t look good.

“Maybe we could find it a new home,” Betty suggested, somewhat against her better judgement.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“We might need it. One of us might need to sit down and learn something.”

Jughead picked up a stray magazine and arranged it neatly on top of the desk, as if to give both objects some sense of purpose. He stepped back to admire the effect, before leaning over to press a light kiss against Betty’s temple, and disappearing back down to what was now  _their r_ oom.

She was still oddly disarmed whenever he did that. Still surprised by how easily it had become second nature to them.

The desk still looked dreadful, but Betty decided to let the matter go.

 

***

 

Sharing a room with Jughead was great. What was less great was the surplus furniture situation.

Betty knew Veronica was mad.

She didn't say as much, but her demeanour was fairly telling. Veronica had been out for most of Saturday, and Betty had been hopeful that by the time she got home she would be in a sufficiently good mood to see the humour in the situation.

She had been wrong.

Betty saw Veronica’s eyes narrow as soon as she entered the room.

“Who put that there?”

Jughead hadn't missed a beat. “Archie.”

Veronica had given him a particularly withering look, but elected not to comment further.

Betty had also been hopeful that by the time Sunday rolled around, Veronica might have adjusted to the idea. But she had been wrong about that, too. Instead, Betty had tiptoed cautiously around while Veronica had eaten her breakfast in stoney silence, likely plotting her revenge. By the time the weekend was over, Veronica was still brisk, she was still not really talking to Jughead, and the desk was still incongruously placed in the living room. Jughead had taken to sitting on the desk at any given opportunity - purely, Betty suspected, to prove a point.

None of this was hugely unpredictable, she supposed.

When Betty arrived home from work on Monday evening to find the spare desk had disappeared from the living room, she was equal parts relieved, and also a little apprehensive about what might be to come.

Jughead was already home, and had apparently already unsuccessfully searched the apartment in its entirety.

“You have to help me find it.”

Betty didn’t really want to help. It could be anywhere. And she wanted to go to yoga before dinner. It was a feeble excuse, but she tried it anyway.

“I want to go to yoga.”

“We can’t always get what we want, Betty.”

Betty sighed, slightly exasperated, and wondered how this had already become a significant aspect of their week. But she allowed Jughead to take her hand, interlinking their fingers, and lead her, somewhat unwillingly, towards the apartment door.

How romantic.

She was at a loss to understand how this could possibly be so important. The absurdity of searching greater Precinct for a piece of furniture their flatmate had confiscated was not lost on her. It wasn’t in the stairwell. It wasn't in the foyer. And it wasn't obviously in the carpark, either. When they did finally find the spare desk, it was on the ground floor in the recycling room, sitting there innocently alongside the rest of the Precinct residents’ recycling.

Jughead was offended, but Betty was mildly impressed. Unless Veronica had coerced Archie into helping her, she had somehow managed to transport a large, ungainly piece of furniture down 14 floors. Unprecedented commitment to the cause, really.

Jughead was not interested in acknowledging this demonstration of Veronica’s selective resourcefulness, though.“She’s so rude,” he said, genuinely affronted. “Do you see me putting her bloody L Shaped Couch out with the recycling?”

“No,” Betty said dully.

“We need somewhere safe to store it.”

They didn’t need somewhere safe to store it. They didn’t need to store it at all, as far as Betty was concerned. She knew Veronica and Archie wouldn’t be home until later that evening, and if ever there was an opportunity to discreetly move it back into the apartment, it was now. But Jughead had other ideas.

“Maybe we should ask the neighbours to look after it for a bit.”

There was no easily discernible reason he should think this was an appropriate solution. Betty was confused. “We don’t even know the neighbours.”

“That’s not true. I talked to them in the elevator once.”

Precisely. They didn’t know the neighbours  _at all._ But Jughead was not interested excuses.

Betty could understand why the girl across the hall looked confused upon answering the door, and finding Jughead and Betty standing on the landing, desk in tow.

“Hi, I’m Jughead. I live across the hall.”

“Hi,” she said shortly. She didn’t introduce herself.

“And this is Betty,” Jughead added, gesturing in Betty’s direction.

The girl smiled tightly at Betty, but still didn’t introduce herself. Betty already deeply regretted everything about this situation.

Jughead cleared his throat, apparently thrown by the girl’s lack of social graces. “I, ahh, I wondered if you might have some room in your apartment to store our desk? Just for a couple of days.”

 _Our_ desk?! It took everything Betty had not to defend herself from this embarrassing proclamation.

The girl blinked in confusion. “Uhhh… I…. guess so?”

Jughead smiled warmly at her, a last ditch effort at his usual charisma. “Thank you so much. We are experiencing a slight chasm across the hall at the moment, and just looking to keep it out of harm’s way.”

The girl still looked uncertain, and understandably so, Betty thought. But nevertheless, she held back the apartment door and allowed Jughead to drag the desk inside. Betty followed after him, smiling apologetically at her in passing.

Structurally, her apartment was a mirror image of theirs. Betty found herself feeling oddly disorientated; everything was completely back to front. That said, it was clear the girl and whoever else occupied this apartment lacked Veronica’s house pride, because their living area was comparatively a dishevelled mess.

“Where would you like us to leave it?” Jughead asked.

Betty didn’t think this particularly good choice of words. It was unlikely the poor girl wanted them to leave it with her at all.

“Anywhere’s fine,” the girl said, pointing vaguely over in the direction of the window. Betty watched Jughead arrange it in the corner of the room, at least somewhat out of the way.

“Thank you so much,” Betty said on the way out, echoing Jughead’s words for want of something better to say.

The girl shrugged indifferently as she closed the door after them.

“That was so awkward,” Jughead said.

Betty stared at him in disbelief, astonished that he could be at all surprised by this.

 

***

 

Veronica was in a particularly good mood in the days that followed. The abrupt disappearance of the desk had, predictably, not really become a topic of conversation. Unexplained developments like this often took place without comment where Jughead and Veronica were concerned. They thrived off the tension.

In fact, Archie had been the only one to broach the subject. “Where’s that desk?” he’d asked one morning, apparently having found it’s absence to be of passing interest, but perhaps reticent to bring it up until a moment when Jughead wasn’t around.

“Gone.” Veronica said briskly.

“Gone?”

“I had it removed.”

Betty suspected Veronica of genuinely believing she’d seen the last of it. Veronica’s mood became more and more buoyant with every passing day the offending desk didn’t reappear. She seemed to interpret Jughead’s silence as an admission of defeat.

Betty might have thought as much too if she hadn’t known any better. Instead, she wasn’t hugely surprised when she got up later in the week and found it had been reintroduced to the apartment. Somewhat inconveniently, it was positioned at the end of the hallway, blocking the entrance to the kitchen.

She stood there, barricaded from entering the kitchen. Veronica was sitting at the breakfast bar, calmly eating her breakfast whilst scrolling through her phone. Betty contemplated her options for a moment, eventually deciding it best to just climb over top of it.

“Good morning, Betty.”

“Hi,” Betty said hesitantly, unsure if she was going to be deemed guilty by association.

“I’m sorry your boyfriend is an idiot.”

“Mmm,” Betty said, opting for a neutral response to this statement.

Veronica didn’t appear to be interested in making further comment, a fairly typical reaction from her in times of tribulation. Betty went about getting her own breakfast. While she was not surprised to see the desk had made a reappearance, she was a little uncertain about how that had happened. Jughead was still asleep. She was certain of that because she’d left him in bed only moments ago. As far as she was aware, there hadn’t been an opportunity for him to retrieve it from the neighbours’ apartment this morning. And yet, here it was.

She’d just finished poaching her eggs when Archie too appeared.

“Oh hey, Betty,” he said, clambering over the desk like there was never a time when it was not there.

Betty waved absentmindedly at him, her mouth full of breakfast.

“Look,” he said casually, pointing back at it as if it were necessary to clarify it hadn’t been there all along - despite its notoriety, and despite all three of them having just had to climb over it to gain access to the kitchen. “I found Jughead’s desk outside our apartment when I got home from the gym this morning.”

Betty chewed slowly, still struggling to compute how this had happened. “Not guilty,” she said eventually, after she’d finished her mouthful.

Archie shrugged. “It was kind of in the way, so I just brought it inside.”

“It’s in the way here, too,” Veronica said, her words clipped.

That was unequivocally true. Betty couldn’t understand why Archie had chosen to leave it in such an inconvenient place. But it didn’t seem particularly prudent a time to open up a discussion about this, and so they finished their breakfast in collective silence. Archie was loading everyone’s plates into the dishwasher just as Jughead showed up. He stood at the entrance to the kitchen, evidently a little surprised.

“My desk has been returned,” he said, sounding sufficiently delighted that Betty was now certain he had not been involved in coordinating its return. “I’m so pleased.”

Archie laughed, and Veronica ignored both of them. Jughead caught Betty’s eye, his expression questioning. She shook her head ever so slightly.

Knowing now that Jughead had not been responsible for this development, the only possible explanation was that the neighbour, whose name they may now never know, had unceremoniously rejected it.

Given her apparent indifference, this was a little surprising. But it was perhaps fair enough.

Betty only hoped they didn’t end up sharing an elevator with her in the near future.

 

***

 

The new normal was climbing over the spare desk to get into the kitchen. Even Jughead had agreed, when Betty had mentioned it to him in passing, that it was problematic.

But nobody seemed prepared to take action and move it.

Betty knew that this was indicative of an inability to concede defeat by both Veronica and Jughead. And she knew Archie shared her reticence to become any more embroiled in the situation than they already were. But Jughead’s underlying reluctance to part with the desk at all was still a mystery to her, and it was starting to bother her more and more.

“Why won’t he just get rid of it?” she asked Archie one afternoon, when the others were both out.

“He hates throwing stuff out.”

They didn’t have to throw it out, though. Surely it could be rehomed, repurposed. Gifted to some struggling student.

“He’s a hoarder,” Betty decided. “My boyfriend is a hoarder.”

“Perhaps,” Archie said, sounding unusually philosophical. “But remember also, he’s just not that good at change. Or letting stuff go.”

Archie had a point. If there was anything Betty had learned in the last few months, it was that Jughead was not especially good at embracing change. While he'd undoubtedly made great progress of late, for all of his progressive ideas and plans and concepts, his follow through was still a little lacking. Given his background, she could kind of see why. His reluctance to let go of a piece of furniture was still irrational, but if she extrapolated wildly, Betty could kind of almost see how he might be struggling with what could perhaps be perceived as a new beginning.

“It’s not really about the desk, is it.”

Archie didn’t respond to this, but his expression was uncharacteristically all knowing.

“Maybe I should just put it back in our room,” she said eventually, thinking perhaps it prudent to allow a slightly longer adjustment period.

“Be my guest,” Archie said, shrugging.

Betty grimaced at reference to the source of all this trouble; this minor, but somehow extremely significant issue could perhaps have been avoided if Veronica had been more flexible about her Guest Room. But Archie remained oblivious. She let him carry the desk down the hall to their room by himself in return for his ignorance.

“There really isn’t much room in here for it, is there?” Archie said, glancing around in acknowledgment of the issue, but not really caring. It was, after all, of minimal inconvenience to him personally.

Betty stared at the desk in distaste. “I know.”

The things she was prepared to put up with.

 


	2. The Apple Crumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some further supplementary material, should you fancy it. Again, some deleted scenes/basically an entire chapter - the byproduct of overzealous editing. 
> 
> My original intent was that this took place somewhere between the events of Chapters 7 and 8.

They were going to be so late.

Veronica and Archie had already left over an hour ago. And while they’d had to detour somewhere on the way to the dinner, that was still rather closer to when Betty and Jughead should have departed themselves.

Betty leaned against the apartment door and stared up at the ceiling. In the short time since she’d moved into Precinct, she’d come to realise that Jughead ran late fairly frequently. It wasn’t that he had no respect for other people’s time, so much as that he just seemed to have too many things to do, and too many places to be, and too many people to talk to.

These were not struggles Betty really encountered herself, so she wasn’t sure what the solution was. Nonetheless, it was regrettable that he was going to tarnish her reputation for timeliness.

“Jughead,” she sighed. “Come on. We have to go.”

“I know!” He called breathlessly, jogging the length of the hall out into the kitchen to get his keys, and then back to join her at the apartment door. “Alrighty” he said, suddenly impatient.

Betty rolled her eyes, holding back a smile, and pushed the apartment door open to let them both out. They travelled down the lift in silence, the apple crumble Betty had spent the afternoon crafting clutched in her arms. The silence was comfortable. But for their trip to the beach, this was the first time the four of them had ventured outside the confines of the apartment together. It was also the first time she and Jughead had spent any time alone together since he’d hugged her in the kitchen. At the time she hadn’t been sure what that would mean for their friendship going forward, but it all seemed to have fallen back into place. She was glad.

She’d been apprehensive when Veronica asked them to come along to her friend’s potluck dinner. It was lovely of her to ask, and Betty appreciated it, but really did not want to impose. That was a feeling that she never seemed to be able to escape - feeling like an imposition. Feeling out of place in large groups of people she didn’t know, and like everyone was looking at her and also right through her at the same time. It was also strange to her that something as homely and everyday as a potluck dinner could exist in this big city with these gregarious friends. But it was happening, and Veronica had insisted, and here she was.

Their lateness was not really serving to mitigate her unease about everything, but she’d committed now. She’d even been the one to make the token apple crumble - though that was largely the result of her having taken offence to Veronica’s suggestion that they buy one.

Veronica’s friend Cheryl didn’t live far from Precinct. As such, Betty and Jughead walked the short journey up several blocks in reasonably good time. Another resident held the door for them, allowing them entrance to the building without the need to call the intercom. Which was lucky, as it turned out, because no sooner than they had entered the building than Jughead turned to her and asked, “Do you remember what number Cheryl’s apartment is?”

Betty started at him slightly disbelievingly. Of course she didn’t know. All she really knew about Cheryl was that Jughead had sarcastically told her, which was that Cheryl's approach to life was such that one could only assume she was throwing a potluck dinner ironically. Cheryl was Veronica’s friend, and Veronica was Jughead's friend before she was Betty's friend. Jughead was clearly less removed from this social circle. If anyone should have retained this important piece of information, it was Jughead. And if he wasn’t going to, he should have told her so!

Betty shook her head in response.

Jughead looked briefly thoughtful. “I’m pretty sure it’s 7a.”

Betty felt very much like she'd rather he was more than 'pretty sure' it was 7a. “Maybe we should get confirmation from Veronica.”

Jughead looked at her, mildly confused, as if it had never occurred to him that one might want to have some certainty about their destination.

“Nah, it's definitely 7a.”

Such certainty in the wake of such doubt.

A short elevator ride while later, Jughead knocked sharply on the door of 7a. Betty listened carefully for the hum of chatter and laughter behind the door, but heard nothing. Either they had the wrong place, or the building was particularly well soundproofed.

The door opened. Betty didn’t recognise the girl who answered, and she knew that Jughead didn't either because she briefly saw a flicker of doubt in his expression. And then he blinked and it was gone, that infectious grin and its associated charisma taking over.

“Hi Cheryl” he said warmly. “How are you?”

The girl stared at him blankly. There was a somewhat awkward pause, during which even Jughead seemed to not know what to do.

“Ahh,” she said, somewhat reluctantly. “Cheryl's inside.”

Apparently they were going to gloss over the fact that Jughead had confused her with their actual host.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Jughead said quickly, so effusive that the girl relaxed somewhat and actually smiled back. She opened the door a little further. “Come in.”

Betty had been so certain they'd come to the wrong apartment. She could detect an irritating aura of smugness radiating from Jughead, and chose to avoid his gaze. As much as she was pleased they’d been able to remedy their friendship, such that it was, he was so annoying when he was right.

However his righteousness began to wane somewhat upon reaching the open plan area of the apartment. Not only did Cheryl not seem to be there, but nobody else was either.

The girl who had greeted them at the door disappeared off down the hallway, apparently in search of Cheryl. “I'll just go get her,” she called.

For want of something better to do, Betty placed the apple crumble down carefully on the table. She stood there feeling slightly awkward. Jughead, meanwhile, seemed slightly baffled, but otherwise to be completely at ease.

“Where is everyone?” she whispered.

"Uhhh...it’s unclear.”

"I thought you'd met Cheryl before?" Betty persisted.

Jughead shrugged. "I definitely have. But it was brief," he admitted.

A short while later, the girl returned with someone trailing after her. Betty glanced at Jughead, looking for some sign of recognition, because ‘Cheryl’ didn’t seem to be demonstrating any whatsoever. She was staring blankly at them, apparently completely confused.

“Hi...” she said hesitantly. “Can I help you?”

It was in this moment that Betty realised she could not help them. Nobody could help them.

Jughead pressed on anyways. “Are you Cheryl?” he asked, now sounding genuinely amused.

Cheryl nodded.

“Hi, I’m Jughead.” He placed a reassuring hand on Betty’s shoulder. “And this is Betty. We’re here for the potluck dinner. It's true we're running a bit late. Has everyone already left?”

Betty could tell he was joking, but she wasn’t sure if anyone else in the room could.

To her credit, Cheryl smiled politely. “We’re not having a potluck dinner here tonight. Sorry. Maybe you’ve got the wrong apartment? And the wrong Cheryl?”

They undoubtedly did have the wrong apartment and the wrong Cheryl. It was now Betty’s turn to feel smug, but somehow, standing awkwardly in this kitchen having intruded on these people’s evenings, she couldn’t quite do it.

Jughead nodded. “I think you may be right. I’m terribly sorry.”

Thankfully both girls didn’t look too concerned by this intrusion, but it was true they both looked a fairly confused. Betty thought it was probably about time they left.

But Jughead plainly wasn't ready to let go of the absurdity of this situation. “It’s still pretty early in the evening. You could still host one if you wanted to. We’d come.”

The girl who had opened the door for them frowned slightly. “I don’t think we want to.”

Jughead smiled warmly. “In that case, we will leave you to enjoy your Saturday evening in peace. Again, apologies for the confusion.”

Betty gave both girls a forced smiled, the kind she hoped conveyed gratitude and aplology and warm wishes all at once. She pulled at Jughead’s arm, tugging him in the direction of the doorway.

“Bye!” Jughead called cheerily over his shoulder. “See you later!”

Betty glanced back to see both of them looking very much like they hoped there would not be a later. Betty didn’t really blame the. She practically dragged Jughead out to the door, opening it, and pushing him through it, and closing it behind them.

She leaned against the wall. “That was so awkward.”

Jughead looked unconcerned. “It wasn’t ideal. I don’t know if they want to be friends with us.”

Betty looked at him in amusement. “You don’t _know_? I think that was a pretty clear no.”

Jughead shrugged. “People make mistakes.”

 

***

 

Jughead had given in and called Veronica.

He’d been reluctant to do so, but eventually admitted they were out of other options. Betty would never be quite sure what it was that made it so difficult for some people to ask for directions.

She knew he was receiving somewhat of an admonishing over the phone from Veronica, because Betty could clearly make out Veronica’s dulcet tones. The had also been a brief moment where he’d held his phone away from his ear looking slightly harassed. Considering they were going to see Veronica in only a few minutes time, Jughead seemed to spend an unnecessarily long time placating her. He was clearly completely incapable letting something go without having the last say.

“She’s pretty mad,” he said, somewhat unnecessarily, as he ended the call. “She says we’re late.”

Betty had gathered as much. And Veronica wasn’t wrong. They _were_ late.

“On the upside, we now know potluck dinner is currently underway at 11a.” Jughead looked pleased with himself, and beckoned for Betty to follow him into the elevator.

So close, but several floors off. Really, it didn’t matter though, Betty was just pleased they had a confirmed address. It was the little things. 

She was even more pleased when it was that Veronica answered the door. She looked a little hostile, but relieved to see them nonetheless.

“Thank god you’re here.”

“I know,” Jughead said triumphantly. “We made it!”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “At least you’re here in time for dessert."

_Dessert._

Betty’s mouth dropped open. She glanced nervously between Veronica and Jughead, the three of them stood there in the entrance to the real Cheryl's apartment.

“I left the apple crumble at the other apartment,” Betty whispered.

She wasn’t sure why she was whispering, it wasn’t as if that was going to make this confession any less true. Judging by Veronica’s confused expression, Jughead’s extended conversation with Veronica over the phone had omitted the fact that he’d taken them into the wrong Cheryl's apartment.

“Who else’s apartment have you been to?” Veronica asked, bewildered. And then her tone became more accusatory. “Is this why you’re _so_ late?"

Jughead placed a hand on Betty’s shoulder and sighed. “Betty thought Cheryl's apartment was 7a.”

For a brief moment, and in amongst all her guilt, Betty wondered if Veronica might believe him. But then she saw her roll her eyes dramatically, and remembered that was a rare occurrence in itself.

“ _Sur_ e she did.” Veronica’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Jughead. I need you to go and get that apple crumble. Some of us have a reputation to uphold here.”

It was true that it was somewhat rude to show up at a potluck dinner without a contribution. Betty had had to educate Veronica about this - she'd expressed bewilderment when they'd collectively been asked to bring a desert, some plastic forks and some paper plates. This was, in part, how Betty knew Veronica had not attended very many potluck dinners in her life. Thought truthfully, she could probably have assumed as much.

Jughead, usually so calm in the face of conflict, looked slightly irritated. But clearly not wanting to make a big deal about it, he raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, Veronica. I'll go and get the apple crumble.”

“Thank you.”

Veronica stepped back to allow Betty to come inside, watching as Jughead backed away, his hands still in the air. Betty took one step across the threshold of the apartment, and then stopped. Relieved as she was that Jughead seemed to be claiming most of the responsibility for this, it did little to minimise her feelings of guilt. 

“Jughead, wait!”

Jughead turned around, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

“I’ll come with you,” Betty said.

She smiled apologetically at Veronica. Veronica’s stoney expression was largely unreadable, but Betty almost thought she could detect a hint of smile behind there somewhere. She sighed loudly and shooed Betty out of the entrance, closing the door behind her.

“I think Veronica likes you more than me,” Jughead commented dryly as they descended four flights of stairs.

Veronica and Jughead’s friendship was something of a mystery to Betty. They were constantly at odds with each other, and for the most part Jughead brought that upon himself. Subtly undermining Veronica was something of a specialty for him. Betty could never quite work out how they’d managed to maintain some semblance of friendship for all these years.

“I can’t come inside,” Betty said quietly as they reached the 7th floor, pausing before leaving the stairwell.

“What?”

“I’ll just... I'll just wait here.”

Jughead looked slightly confused.

Betty hadn’t wanted to abandon all responsibility for this situation, but when it came down to it, she also really _really_ didn’t want to go back inside the apartment. Here she was, venturing out with her new friends, in this new city, to meet more new people and be subjected to endless questions. That in itself presented a myriad of challenges. And even though she’d descended all four flights of stairs with him, and even though this was partly her fault, going back to retrieve the apple crumble was just one too challenge too many.

She wasn’t quite sure how to vocalise this. But Jughead was fairly astute, and she strongly suspected him of having managed to draw this conclusion himself. He didn’t enquire further, instead just nodding in acknowledgement.

“Okay then. I’ll be right back."

Betty sat down in the stairwell and waited. She could faintly make out the amicable exchange of voices, Jughead’s laughter, and then the apartment door closing.

Jughead reappeared in the stairwell, the apple crumble balanced on one hand.

“Voilå!” he said, presenting it to her with a flourish.

Betty smiled at him, relieved. “Thank you.”

She tried to put a lot of unsaid things into that expression of gratitude. There was no way to be certain, but she thought he might have understood some of them on some level, because he held her eye contact for a moment longer than was necessary and smiled back.

For a brief moment, she wasn’t sure who would be the one to break it.

And then the fire alarm sounded.

 

***

 

It was absurdly shrill.

The sound reverberated throughout the small enclosed space of the stairwell, ringing loudly in Betty’s ears. She saw Jughead adopt an expression that could only be described as that of extreme distaste. Unable to make himself heard, he merely gestured for Betty to go ahead of him.

They commenced their descent down all seven floors. Betty found herself grateful that this was not happening at Precinct, for if it were, their descent would involve twice as many flights. With each level, more people spilled into the stairwell and joined them in their descent. It was crowded, and on one or two occasions Betty thought she might have lost Jughead. But when she glanced around, she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. He placed a reassuring hand on her upper back.

When they had finally made it to the ground floor and exited the foyer, the sound of the alarm was still echoing in Betty's ears. She pulled an exasperated expression at Jughead who, in return, shook his head disbelievingly. All around them, those that actually lived in the building were engaged in discussion as to whether this had come about as a result of fire alarm testing, or whether someone had burned a piece of toast. There seemed not to be a unanimous school of thought, but the general consensus among residents was that it was a false alarm.

Betty wasn’t sure what they were supposed to do. It seemed unnecessary to stand outside in the cold, waiting for someone else’s building to be evacuated. She didn't really think Veronica would still be expecting them to make an appearance at the potluck dinner, but equally, was reticent to just leave.

Jughead seemed to be on a similar wavelength, and also looked undecided. “At least we have provisions,” he said humorously, brandishing the apple crumble. “You bring any utensils?”

Betty suspected this of being a joke, but, actually, she did. She nodded.

“Stop…” Jughead grinned in disbelief.

“I did though,” Betty laughed, reaching into her bag and procuring the bag of plastic forks she’d packed, as per Veronica’s instructions. 

Jughead’s demeanour changed immediately. Suddenly on a mission, he reached for Betty’s arm and guided her gently through the crowd to to where the residents were a little more dispersed. There was a low level wall that framed the outside of the apartment building. Jughead rested the notorious apple crumble on the flat top surface of the wall, and then hauled himself up and sat next to it. He patted the space next to him.

Betty gathered what was left of her upper body strength these days and climbed up and sat along side him.

The additional height gave them a slight view over the crowds that had congregated outside the building. Betty was just enjoying her third forkful of apple crumble when she caught sight of Veronica and Archie. She reached up and waved, and quite by chance, Archie noticed them and waved back. Betty saw him tap Veronica on the shoulder and point in their direction, and then they noticeably refocused their efforts to make it through the crowd in she and Jughead's direction.

“This is some good shit, Cooper,” Jughead said vaguely as he helped himself to more apple crumble.

She couldn't disagree with that. She did make an excellent apple crumble. Archie and Veronica reached them moments later. Archie assisted Veronica’s ascent onto the wall, given she was rather shorter in stature than everyone else, and then hoisted himself up beside them.

“Oh good, you found the apple crumble,” Archie said conversationally, forgoing any other form of greeting. 

Veronica stared at Jughead reproachfully as he finished his mouthful, seeming to battle some kind of inner conflict. It wasn’t too much of a struggle for Betty to suppose out what that might be. But in his defence, it seemed rather unrealistic to entertain the idea of attending the function now. Apple crumble or not. 

"How was dinner?" Jughead asked, grinning at Veronica.

"None of us are invited back," Archie interjected, when Veronica didn't respond. "Because you guys didn't show up, and all we contributed were some paper plates." 

Veronica reached into her bag and brandished several such plates to emphasise Archie's statement.  

Jughead shook his head. "All you took to the potluck dinner was paper plates? Geez Veronica, loosen the purse strings a little." He pried one of the plates from her fingers, served her a small helping of apple crumble, and handing it back to her.

Veronica rolled her eyes, but accepted it without further admonishment. She didn't say anything, but when Betty caught her eye, Veronica smiled ever so slightly and winked. 

This, Betty reminded herself, was what it was like to be a part of something. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annabel x


	3. The Flowers and The Cheesecakes II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no chill and sometimes when chapters prove particularly difficult to write, I write the entire thing from someone else's perspective first. And then I store it in the archives for months... Chapter 16 - The Flowers and The Cheesecakes

Jughead woke with the sort of heavy feeling that tended to settle in your stomach when you’d been putting something off something inevitable for too long. He stared up at the ceiling, only just able to make up the light fittings in the dim glow that was seeping into his room under the blinds. He briefly recalled his attempt to inform Veronica of him and Betty’s evolving relationship, and felt exasperated all over again at Veronica’s refusal to co-operate.

She was such a nightmare.

He swore she was out to make his life as difficult as possible. It was as if she derived some sort of enjoyment out of it. Admittedly he was largely responsible for instigating this dynamic, but Jughead did wish she would exercise slightly better judgment when it came to matters that involved people other than him. People like Betty. Because Betty mattered.

He really hadn’t wanted to turn this thing with Betty into a big deal. That was partly because he never really wanted to share anything with anyone, but also because he got the distinct impression Betty didn’t particularly enjoy being the centre of attention. However, Veronica’s refusal to acknowledge his announcement that he was taking Betty on a date seemed to indicate that she did not share this view.

She rarely ever did, of course. Veronica never shared his views, and always thought everything was a big deal. Perhaps this was part of the reason he’d waited so long to try and broach the subject.

But this was a new week, they were back in Precinct on home soil, and, if nothing else, Veronica seemed to have forgiven him for the unfortunate incident involving that ugly vase. It seemed prudent not to dwell on the events of the weekend.

Jughead had to physically drag himself out of bed to face the day. Mondays were often like that. The apartment was still quiet, and unusually not even Betty was up yet. He set about making some coffee, and embarked on the daily routine that was preparing himself an elaborate breakfast. He made an extra coffee just incase Betty made a morning appearance.

Which, of course, she did. And he felt quite pleased with himself that the cup of coffee was sitting there waiting for her, because she looked like she was struggling a little with the concept of facing another working week. She made now complaints though, as was fairly typical of her - but for that one time she seemed to had experienced something of a young-professional-tantrum and skipped work. Instead she quietly hopped up onto her preferred seat at the breakfast bar and helped herself to coffee and cereal. 

A comfortable silence hung between them as they ate their breakfast, and Jughead found himself thinking he should really get up at this hour more frequently. Doing so would partly to avoid shrill encounters with Veronica, but also whatever this thing with Betty was, it seemed that it always felt the very most comfortable here in the kitchen at Precinct.

Just as he was reflecting on how peaceful the morning felt in Veronica’s absence, they were interrupted by a knock at the door. Jughead was in the midst of packing the last of his lunch into a bag to take to work. He looked up at Betty, confused, and found her to be equally bewildered.

“You expecting someone?” he asked, even though he found it unlikely at this hour.

She shook her head. “Nope.”

Jughead frowned. “Maybe it’s the courier,” he wondered. “Veronica must have purchased something. Woe is us.” He put down what he was doing and went out to answer the door.

Whatever Veronica had purchased, Jughead thought, it was going to have to be good to justify delivery at this ungodly time. But then, it was a rare occurrence he approved of any of Veronica’s purchases, so he wasn’t going to hold out too much hope on that one.

Jughead peered through the view hole in the apartment door, and saw they were indeed the recipients of a delivery. To his surprise, it looked to be a bouquet of flowers. Confused, and certain the delivery guy must have got the wrong apartment, he opened the door.

“Morning. How can I help?”

“I have a delivery for an Elizabeth Cooper,” the guy said, holding out the flowers.

Jughead stared at the bouquet uncertainly, suddenly overcome by an unexpected wave of jealousy. “Who?” he asked again, not quite wanting to believe someone else had beaten him to such a grand gesture before he’d even had a chance to contemplate it.

“Elizabeth Cooper?” the guy repeated. And then, when Jughead didn’t respond, he added, “Have I got the wrong apartment?”

Jughead shook his head quickly. “No, sorry.” He reached out to take the flowers. “I’ll give them to her. Thank you so much.”

Jughead bid him farewell, and then closed the apartment door. He stood there in the entrance a moment, contemplating whether he could bring himself to glance at the attached card. Something that seemed to be equal parts curiosity and jealously got the better of him, and he peered inside.

_To Betty, L_ _ove from Forsythe_

Jughead stared at the message disbelievingly. For just a moment, he wondered if he had actually had the good sense to organize this, and had subsequently forgotten about it completely. But it was only for a moment. He’d felt compelled to do some fairly outlandish things by Betty in recent weeks, but he hadn’t completely lost it. He knew someone else had to have orchestrated this, and he had a fair idea of who it might be. There were not endless people in this world in possession of such classified information as his first name.

Regardless, he wasn’t immediately sure how best to proceed from here. Now that he knew these flowers were supposedly from him, it was pleasing to note that the wave of jealously had passed. He no longer felt compelled to toss them over the balcony. But he was also in the awkward position of needing to explain to Betty that someone had sent her flowers on his behalf - not to mention under his hitherto undisclosed name. He briefly considered several options.

  1. He could leave the card on the flowers, give them to her, and pretend that Forsythe was someone else
  2. He could remove the card so she didn’t find out his name was Forsythe, and then he could give them to her and pretend it had been his idea all along
  3. He could remove the card so she didn’t find out his name was Forsythe, and then he could tell her wasn’t sure who’d sent them
  4. He could remove the card so she didn’t find out his name was Forsythe, and then hide the flowers in his room while he figured out who had sent them so he could accost them for such interference



Which ever option he chose, it seemed important to hide the card, because he couldn’t possibly tell her his name was Forsythe. That could only mean the beginning of the end. Certain of this at least, he concluded that it was probably best to just be honest about everything else. He went back into the kitchen feeling fairly apprehensive.

“Betty.”

Betty was still seated at the breakfast bar, scrolling through her phone, apparently entirely unconcerned that he’d just spent an inordinate amount of time hovering at the entrance to the apartment.

“Mmm?” she said absently, not looking up from her phone. “There’s some really lovely photos from the weekend-”

“Betty!”

This time she did look up, and her mouth dropping open slightly in surprise to see him standing in the middle of the kitchen, armed with a bouquet of flowers. “Who are those for?” she asked.

Not wanting her to a) be hopelessly let down from the outset, or b) any more confused that he was, Jughead gave careful consideration to his answer. “Well,” he said, walking over to the breakfast bar and stopping directly opposite her. He placed the flowers down on the counter. “Apparently they’re for you.”

Betty looked confused, and for that Jughead couldn’t really blame her. “That’s…vague,” she said. “Who are they from?”

Jughead scratched is neck awkwardly, pausing before answering. “Apparently, they’re from me.”

Betty’s eyebrows lifted unprecedentedly high, and there was an even longer pause.

Jughead cleared his throat hastily and then smiled apologetically. “I have to preface this by telling you that I wish I sent you these,” he said. “But I didn’t.”

Betty still looked confused, but also now somewhat like she was holding back a giggle. “Yeah…I kind of got that,” she said, smiling back. He must have looked a little sheepish, because she went on to say, “It’s okay. I much prefer hydrangeas anyway. They’re my favourite.”

Jughead nodded in acknowledgment, filing this crucial piece of information away for another day. “These are nice, though, I suppose,” he added conversationally, mostly relieved Betty didn’t seem hopelessly offended. “What are they?"

She looked slightly unimpressed by this question. “They’re lilies,” she said pointedly. “Can I see the card that came-”

“No,” Jughead interrupted, much more quickly than he would have liked. He pulled the card hastily off the side of the bouquet, folded it up and stuffed it in his pocket.

Betty frowned a little, looking somewhat bewildered. “Why not?”

Jughead hadn’t thought to dream up an elaborate excuse for this. He had no choice but to settle for the honest truth. “It has my real name on it.”

Betty’s expression indicated that she thought this was a poor excuse, as she often did, but she seemed to decide it wasn’t worth arguing about. “Okay. Fine.” She gacee the matter a little more thought, and then asked him, “Does Veronica know your real name?”

Jughead knew immediately what she was implying. There were very few people in this world to whom he’d actually disclosed his real name. He had told Archie this classified piece of information in confidence, only for him to absent-mindedly share it with Veronica at a later date. Unimportant though it was in the great scheme of things, Jughead had always felt reasonably bitter about the whole thing. He supposed he should be grateful Veronica hadn’t taken the liberty of distributing it amongst their wider circle of friends (until now), but it was still a historic grudge and he wasn’t about to let go of it right now.

Betty didn’t seem particularly interested in hearing about this injustice though, because she all but disregarded his caustic remarks. Instead, she simply said, “I think Veronica sent them. The flowers.”

Jughead was inclined to agree with her. It seemed precisely like the kind of thing Veronica would do. Even so, he wasn’t quite sure how best to proceed from here. The mature, adult thing to do would be to confront Veronica directly, to tell her he knew she’d sent the flowers, and admit to everyone that Betty was all he’d spent the last few weeks thinking about. But if he knew Veronica, and Jughead thought he fairly well did, that was exactly the kind of confession she would have been trying to extract from him.

It simply wouldn’t do to buy into her manipulative ways.

“I think so too,” he told Betty. “And I think we should just… not comment on it. And see what happens.”

Betty looked moderately skeptical, but no more so than anyone ever did when it came to his and Veronica’s fraught relationship. If Veronica thought she was the only one who could arrange floral deliveries under someone else’s name, she was about to be proven wrong.

 

***

 

By “see what happens”, what Jughead had really meant was that he was needed a little time to come up with a suitable way to get Veronica back. And having given the matter some consideration, it seemed only fitting to spend the week delivering Archie flowers on her behalf. 

It took most of his lunch break to find a florist who could deliver another bunch of lilies to Precinct that Monday evening, and one who was also willing to schedule deliveries for the rest of the week. Jughead didn’t normally even have time to take lunch breaks, but this was important.

As he had suspected would be the case, Veronica did not comment upon discovering ‘she’ had delivered Archie a bunch of lilies. Instead, life continued as normal Betty unwrapped both bouquets and arranged them in vases on the breakfast bar.

Jughead suspected her of finding this new development less amusing than he did, but then, she had always seemed fairly resolute in her role as the voice of reason in times like these. She was sensible like that.

He was thrown off somewhat the next day when Betty was delivered a cheesecake. This time, the delivery was genuinely anonymous, the label simply reading “To Betty”. Jughead might have assumed that this too was Veronica’s doing, but he recognized the brand as being one of Archie’s favourites, and that seemed fairly telling.

It was less obvious to Jughead why Archie had felt the need to join in on the week’s antics. He’d kind of been counting on him to impart some common sense to Veronica at some stage, to remind her that Jughead and Betty’s evolving relationship wasn’t really that big of a deal. Now it was clear to him that this was not to be so, and he was slightly aggrieved. 

However, later that week Betty told Jughead that she’d confronted Archie and outright asked him if he’d sent her the cheesecakes. He’d apparently said “Yes”, and then that he’d “just thought that was what we were doing this week.”

Sometimes Archie just did things for the thrill of it.

It became increasingly apparent over the course of the week that Veronica was incredibly allergic to the lilies. If Jughead hadn’t been so intent on winning this battle, he might have felt a little bad for her. She sneezed perpetually every time she entered the kitchen, while simultaneously refusing to admit there was a problem. Instead, she proceeded to organize an anonymous delivery of helium balloons. She clearly wasn’t giving in without a fight.

So much so, in fact, that by the time the week was drawing to a close, Jughead was starting to feel like all of this was getting a bit out of hand. He could barely even remember why all it had seemed like a good idea at the outset. What had his original intent been? To get back at Veronica for trying to forcibly extract some kind of romantic confession from him? Really, all he was doing was further delaying the inevitable. Because he was good at that.

By Thursday morning, the breakfast bar was awash with flowers, cheesecakes, helium balloons, and a basket of cupcakes.

“What spendthrifts,” Archie remarked, while helped himself to some cheesecake for breakfast.

Jughead knew that Archie had only made this comment because he knew Jughead was typically opposed to such fiscally irresponsible behavior. He ignored it. 

“Betty says these are lilies,” Archie continued when Jughead said nothing, pointing at the lilies.

“I know.” Jughead did know this, because she’d told him the same thing.

Archie ate the rest of his cheesecake in silence, and then let out a content sigh when he’d finished. He stacked his plate in the dishwasher, and then gestured at the gifts stacked on the breakfast bar then said pointedly, “It’s almost like one of you should just give in.”

Again, Jughead didn’t respond. He’d been hoping Veronica would be the recipient of these words of wisdom, that she would be the one to gather some common sense and give in. But now, standing here in the kitchen, he was prepared to concede that perhaps it might be him that he needed to hear that the most. Perhaps it was him that needed to admit defeat.

After all, he was the one with everything to gain here.

 

***

 

It was with a degree of trepidation that Jughead arranged one last delivery to Precinct, this time requesting a dozen of roses. He requested they please arrive on Thursday evening, and then he thanked the florist for their outstanding service over the week, and ended the call.

Jughead spent the rest of the afternoon working extremely unproductively on something that was due yesterday. It was difficult to stay focused on employment disputes when Betty kept popping up in the forefront of his mind, reminding him of that little smile she made when she didn’t want to admit he was funny, those subtly dry remarks, and her endearingly pragmatic take on things.

When it was finally time to pack up and head home, he meandered somewhat along the way, further putting off what he’d been trying to avoid for weeks.

No one else was home when he arrived, so he retreated to his room, and lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling deep in though. He’d become particularly accustomed to doing lately. Jughead heard the others arrive home a short while later, but waited a few moments longer before making his presence known, doing his best to summons every ounce of courage he had. And then he headed out to the living area.

Veronica, Archie and Betty were gathered in the kitchen, surveying the week’s haul.

“It’s incredibly festive in here,” Jughead observed as he entered the kitchen.

They all turned around, and he was met with slightly withering looks. For a moment, he wondered if he could really bring himself to do this in front of everybody. But then the doorbell rang, everybody sighed, and he realized it really was now or never.

Veronica was staring at him through red, puffy eyes, clearly still suffering in the effects of the lilies, and not showing any sign of backing down. He had to give it to her. She was a hard one to crack.

“I think you should get that, Jughead,” she said crisply.

Jughead answered the door for what felt like the hundredth time that week, smiling at the delivery guy whose name he still didn’t know, but who now felt like an old friend.

“Hey man,” Jughead said. “Back again?”

Jughead collected a the roses, offered profuse thanks, and then he and the delivery guy bade each other farewell one last time. Jughead almost felt a little sad to see him go.

Veronica looked particularly smug when he reappeared in the kitchen, and Jughead knew it was because she knew it wasn’t her that had requested delivery of a dozen roses. Not was it Archie, and certainly wasn’t Betty.

“Well,” Veronica chirped. “Aren’t those nice. If only we had one more vase.” She paused a moment before asking the question everyone had become accustomed to asking this week. “Who are they for?”

Jughead refrained from rolling his eyes at this feigned innocence. “They’re for Betty,” he replied, his voice sounding much calmer than he actually felt.

“I see,” Veronica said knowingly. “And who are they from?” she probed, quite clearly knowing the answer to this too.

Jughead stared at her for a moment, and then gently placed the roses down on the kitchen counter next to where Betty was standing. She looked a little nervous, like she wasn’t quite sure what was about to happen next.

He just wanted her to know it was all going to be okay.

Jughead met her eye, and then took several steps closer to her, suddenly feeling remarkably relaxed and assured. He heard an audible intake of breath from everyone else in the room as he reached out and cupped her face in his hands.

And then he kissed her.

He felt her smile against his lips, and was only vaguely aware of triumphant cheers from Veronica and Archie in the background. And then, not wanting to ask too much of her, he broke away and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a hug.

She seemed a little surprised, and moderately embarrassed, but not so much that she didn’t hug him back. He could feel her heartbeat fluttering against his chest. Relieved, Jughead finally knew that this had been a good idea.

Somewhere behind him, Archie whistled. And then he heard Veronica exclaim, “Guys!” in a particularly emotional voice. The effect of this was reinforced by her adding, “I think I’m going to cry.”

Jughead let go of Betty a little and turned around, one arm still around her shoulders. He pointed accusingly at Veronica. “It’s the lilies!” he told her sternly. “You brought this on yourself!”

“I know, it’s both,” Veronica conceded, wiping her eyes. “But it was so worth it.”

 

***

 

He had to call back and arrange one more delivery the next morning. Now that he and Betty had crossed the enormous hurdle that seemed to be public acknowledgement, Jughead was thinking a little more clearly. He couldn’t believe this hadn’t occurred to him earlier.

He went via the florist on his way to work. It was slightly awkward admitting that he was, in fact, partially responsible for the multitude of deliveries that had been made to the Precinct apartment building this week.

But this delivery wasn’t going to Precinct.

He asked if they had any hydrangeas, and was greatly relieved to find that they did. He even paused briefly to take a photograph of them, so as to be able to identify them easily later, should the need arise. And then he stood there at the counter staring at the blank card for an unnecessarily long time.

He knew what to write, really. It was all very simple. He knew that now.

_For Betty, love from Forsythe Pendleton Jones III x_

It really didn’t do to overcomplicate matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3


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